


A Glass Moon Shines Down Endlessly

by the_unicorn_empress



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dragons, F/F, Swords, Whitewalkers, Wolves, a fix it... of sorts, need i say more, sansaery, season 6 AU, slowburn, sorcery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_unicorn_empress/pseuds/the_unicorn_empress
Summary: Sansa felt it ever since she had reestablished Winterfell with Jon and the Knights of the Vale. Ever since she gave Ramsay death- which in her opinion- was a bit too kind for the torture he caused her to endure.Felt it in her dreams, as she heard a distant whispering.Faint, soft, warm and sweetly beckoning her. To what? She could almost touch it and feel the ethereal intrigue, just barely taste it on the tip of her tongue, listening to the sweet whispers of the comforting shadow in her dreams. The shadow that howled at the moon and urged her to feel like she had to go and run under it, obeying its Mistress' succulent, intoxicating call to freedom. She was flying, floating, soaring over the snow-covered earth beneath heavy feet for miles; a familiar call echoing across the forest to her.





	1. Chapter 1

#  I: The Ethereal Mistress

_Sansa felt it ever since she had reestablished Winterfell with Jon and the Knights of the Vale. Ever since she gave Ramsay death- which in her opinion- was a bit too kind for the torture he caused her to endure._

__

_Felt it in her dreams, as she heard a distant whispering._

__

_Faint, soft, warm and sweetly beckoning her. To what? She could almost touch it and feel the ethereal intrigue, just barely taste it on the tip of her tongue, listening to the sweet whispers of the comforting shadow in her dreams. The shadow that howled at the moon and urged her to feel like she had to go and run under it, obeying its Mistress' succulent, intoxicating call to freedom. She was flying, floating, soaring over the snow-covered earth beneath heavy feet for miles; a familiar call echoing across the forest to her._

__

_She turned, her feet carrying her even more quickly than before, mud covering her feet with a soft squish as she raced to what beckoned her through the forest, ducking and jumping around the thicket and brush instinctively. Her heart thudded so tremendously upon her breastbone, she wondered how her feet kept moving her forward in their feverish beat, the continuous thud driving her forward._

__

_Once she slowed her pace, she had entered a clearing in the forest, the chattering of animals calling out to one another, her heart continued to thunder in her chest as her eyes landed on the figures before her._

__

_"Father," She whispered in a small croak, "Mother..."_

__

_Ned Stark and his wife, Catelyn, stood before Sansa, their faces smiling somberly at her. Beside them stood the rest of her family and those that came before them._

__

_Robb, Jon, Arya, Bran, Rickon..._

__

_They said not a word, but beckoned her down the line of her family, she took in the sight of her loved ones and those she knew had to be of her lineage before her, feeling a strong and familiar warmth creep its way across her very being. Once she reached the end, her father and mother held out a giant cloak of fur for her to wear. Although unlike the furs her family usually donned for heat in the cold, harsh climate of Winterfell, this one was different. A wolf's pelt, she could tell by her inspection, with rusty-colored fur- almost as red as the hair on her head. She accepted the cloak, feeling the pull she had felt earlier grow even more so than mere seconds ago._

__

_Now that she bothered to look, she noticed all of her family bore wolf pelts, each one unique in their own right. As if it was made from part of their souls, their very beings, showing who they truly were and where they came from._

__

_Father's was a great, dark, sandy-coloured cloak, making him look more commanding than she had ever seen him before. Mother's was closer to her own coat, a deep auburn colour, with a red tint, the soft fur gleaming brilliantly in the moonlight. Robb's cloak was in between hers and their mother's, his was also a deep auburn colour, only he had red and golden highlights glinting in the moonlight from above. Jon's was interesting, he had a pure white cloak, except where his wrists would rest and near his feet, the same dark, beautiful golden colour of their father's cloak bled out, slowly fading into the snow white cloak. Arya's was not surprising to her in the least, like her little sister's hair, the colour of her cloak was a dark chocolate brown- so deep that it almost appeared black- muted red highlights glittering from it. Bran's cloak was a harsh jet black pelt, but she noticed that it wasn't wolf fur like she thought, but the soft, dowy feathers of a raven. Rickon, sweet, sweet Rickon had a coat that resembled their father's the most; the same sandy colour, but with faint reddish-brown highlights tinting it._

__

_As she secured the clasp of her own cloak, her father opened his mouth to utter three clear words to her, "Reunite the pack."_

__

 

Sansa awoke, gasping deeply, sweat beading at the nape of her neck uncomfortably, she threw her bedsheets off, sitting up. With shaking hands, she pushed the loose strands of hair that fell from her braid during the night away from her face. She gave her bedchambers a glance, the embers from the dying fire glowed dimly across the floor, very little light extending upwards in her direction.

"Reunite the pack..." Sansa muttered lowly to herself, feeling the same tug as before, her anxious thoughts and restlessness overcoming her now. She snorted to no one in particular, as she was very alone in the moment, "Knowing my kin, that won't be a difficult task... not at all."

She allowed her limbs to pull herself up, as if a phantom or some otherworldly beng was controlling her. She let her confusion roar viciously throughout her mind as she shrugged a thick coat on over her nightdress, setting out into the castle, the sounds of the wind softly blowing greeted her and was her only companion for the rest of the night.

 

Margaery had been pretending to pray for over the past hour, when a High Sparrow Priest she had never seen in her weeks- perhaps months- of captivity came to her cell, tossing Loras into it, along with two Lannister knight uniforms, a small scroll, and a small coin purse. He made his way down the hall as if he had never stopped, leaving the door unlocked on his way out. Margaery, dived for her note as quick as her weak bones would allow, scanning it quickly.

 

_Margaery,_

__

_Take Loras in these uniforms as far as you can out of King's Landing immediately. Once free, begin to head North and ask for an audience with the King in the North, Jon Snow, and the Lady Sansa Stark. Inquire for Asylum under the North's banners and let them know they'll have all of Highgarden's power at their disposal. Even send Loras to the Wall to join the Night's Watch, if you must, just make sure you stay under their protection._

__  
_Lady Olenna Tyrell_

__

"Loras," Margaery whispered hoarsely, quietly pleading, struggling with her brother to stand weakly, "come now. We're going to be free soon."

After too many minutes of struggling, she finally managed to get herself and Loras fully clothed, securing the heavy metal where it should go. She bundled their clothes under her thin sheet, making it look as if she were still curled under it today. She made sure the door to her cell was locked and tried to half drag her brother as inconspicuously as possible throughout the halls, fear lurking powerfully in the back of her mind. Margaery managed to avoid any of the High Sparrows that would have raised suspicions at the scene, but luck had been on her side today. She managed to get into the crowded streets of King's Landing, quickly blending in with a group of guards heading towards the outermost gate of the city, no one even batting an eye in their direction. As soon as she could, after having been posted at the outside of the wall, she could barely pull her brother up behind her into the saddle of the horse she took from the guardsmen post, spurning it to a gallop as soon as he was on. She and brother flew down the road, beginning their descent to the North, unaware of what was to come of the High Sparrows later that day...


	2. Chapter 2

# II: Blood of the Roses

Days, weeks, finally a month had passed, and Sansa felt like she was slowly losing her grip on the thin veil of reality. Aside from the same tug, pulling her all over the castle and its grounds, she had just heard word from a raven that the Sept of the Sparrows had been blown away in Wildfyre by Cersi, causing the death of two of the younger Tyrell house heirs to come about- Queen Margaery and her poor brother, Ser Loras Tyrell, gone forever more. It was a sad thought for her, as she dwelled on it, her heart beat against her breastbone a little slower. She decided that it matched her somber thoughts perfectly, they had no better companion to join in their anguished march than each other. She paused in her writing, listening to the low thudding of their miserable quest forward. A knock startled her from her grieving.

"Enter."

The door creaked open slowly, groaning in mighty protest at its weight being bent forward, releasing a long shudder of cold air in Sansa's direction. Jon's worried face peeked from behind the door sheepishly, he gave her a bashful smile, nodding as he entered.

"Sansa," he greeted amicably, pushing the large door closed with ease, his dark eyes landing directly on her light ones. "I... I was wondering if perhaps you'd do me the honour of joining me on a stroll? I'm going absolutely mad being in here all the time, I'm sure you are as well."

His statement sounded more like a question, not that this bothered her.

"Yes," Sansa replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, "you are correct in your assumptions, Jon."

Jon's bashful smile turned into a happy grin, warming Sansa's heart immensely. She hadn't seen her brother smile like that in ages. Every time she saw him- whether it be in the dining hall or a meeting with other Lords of the North- his face always appeared so tense, as if he was ready for the next hurdle and challenge the Gods had fate throw his way. He was starting to look like Father with all the frowning he displayed. But of course he felt that way, he was the Bastard of Lord Eddard Stark, King of the North. Jon Snow, a young man with many titles given to him he didn't want, all but perhaps the title of being a Stark. She didn't fault him nor judge him for his reluctance to take any titles he was given, for any of these titles took a great toll from the man they are given to.

"Thank you," Jon said, still smiling, "I'll meet you by the gates soon?"

"Yes," Sansa replied again, her smile growing, "of course."

Once Sansa had finished bundling up, she made her way towards the courtyard, Brienne following dutifully on her trail. Sansa wondered how she got lucky to have had the heir of Tarth pledge her life and fealty to her. She knew that if there was anyone deserving of the honour of knighthood, it was without a doubt, Brienne. Tall, kind, quiet and patient Brienne would make the finest Ser in the whole of the Sevem Kingdoms, Sansa thought. Of course, Brienne chose whom she swore her fealty to after much observation, but it was out of nobility and her pure heart. Sansa admired the way Brienne would judge the character of whom she was pledging her life to, it made her feel a little bit better about herself, for Brienne was slow to please and harsh of judgement. She was thankful every day for Brienne being so kind to her, so trusting. As she approached Jon, she decided to ask him to knight Brienne if he ever did come to sit on the Iron Throne. She thought it a fit form of repayment.

"Lord Snow," Brienne said calmly, nodding in greeting at the shorter man, "I do hope you've had a pleasant day thus far."

"I have," Jon answered quietly, matching her tone. "I hope your day has been pleasant as well, Lady Brienne. I can take Sansa from here."

Brienne appeared reluctant, her bright blue eyes flitting from Jon's face to Sansa's, who smiled warmly at her, her gaze kindly.

"As you wish, good Sire." Brienne uttered, shrugging her great shoulders downward in acknowledgement. "I shall wait for the Lady Sansa to return for supper."

Sansa and Jon watched Brienne make her way through the courtyard easily, the tall woman sidestepping all the shorter folk as if she could predict their every move. Sansa released a soft sigh, turning to her brother.

"Brienne would make the finest Ser in all the Seven Kingdoms." Sansa remarked aloud, gazing at her brother honestly. "She is their creed embodied."

"I concur," Jon replied, his gaze still on the tall woman. "She'll make a wonderful Ser one day."

"Shall we?" Sansa asked, sweeping her hand towards the gate, hoping to get Jon's attention. "Jon?"

"Mmm," Jon made a noise, letting her know he had heard, "of course."

Jon held his arm forward, bent at the elbow, his hands entwined firmly across his navel. He offered his arm to Sansa, who gently placed her hands atop the crook of his elbow. They shared an understanding smile, beginning their walk towards the gate, greeting servants and knights alike on their brief journey to the gate tower. Just as Sansa and Jon stepped down from the last stair, their boots hitting the gravel, crunching the snow where they stood, they beheld a horse approaching the gate. Two worse for wear Lannister knights from the Kingsguard sat atop the majestic beast, which also appeared well worn. Sansa immediately tightened her grip against her brother's arm, his muscles tensing under the harsh grip. She could feel his jaw clenching just from standing aside him.

"Halt," Jon called, his voice firm and commanding, "what message does yonder rider bringth to Winterfell?"

Their own knights took haste, rallying in front of their King and his Lady sister, forming a small wall of protection. The horses began snorting nervously, anticipating a battle with the way their masters took charge of the reins.

"I bear no message, good Lord Snow," the shorter rider answered, beginning to lift their helm. "I beg thee for protection under his banners."

As the words left the rider's mouth, Sansa could just barely see it poking from under the helm being pulled upward, away from the owner's face. For a moment, she wondered what the rider would look like, an image flashing before her mind. Soft lips, perhaps brown or raven hair, as soft as their lips; she assumed. She blinked. Once the rider had fully removed his helm, she blinked again, trying to decipher the sight lain before her. Margaery. The only female heir of house Tyrell sat before her, looking down with obvious fear shining in her gaze, her hair pulled up sloppily. She could just barely pass for a very effeminate man, with all the soot spread across her face.

"Mar-" Sansa cut herself short, clearing her throat hastily, "Ser Marten. I presume you have Ser Lorenzo with you?"

"Yes, my Lady," Margaery answered, bobbing her head up and down in agreement, her eyes flooding with relief and gratefulness. "I do."

Jon's gaze began swiveling towards her, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion, mouth forming a thin line. He knew something was amiss, but trusted her, nonetheless.

"These men," Sansa explained, fighting the sensation of her heart pounding against her breastbone, "swore fealty to me in King's Landing in secrecy. Revoked their King at the time, pledged their loyalty and protection to me in the Lannister dominion."

A couple of gasps flew up into the air, as Margaery nervously fixed the helm into place once more, apprehensive with the attention on her.

"My Lady is correct," Margaery affirmed, "which is why Ser Lorenzo and I have ridden through the North to Winterfell, Lord Snow."

Sansa gazed at her brother, doing her best to communicate with him in that moment. _Please, trust me._

"If you have pledged yourself to my sister," Jon spoke again, steeling his dark gaze, "that is enough for I. Ser Marten, Ser Lorenzo, you will be accepted under the North's banners. Please, come forth, we will make sure you are tended to immediately."

"Thank you," Margaery said, "we are forevermore indebted to your kindness, Lord Snow."

 

Sansa's head was spinning in a tizzy, her mind racing over the edge of the world, her heart thundering. _How could it be?_ Margaery Tyrell was very much alive and well, even if she was horribly thin now. As was Loras, who had yet to speak a word since his arrival! She frowned, thinking of poor Loras, his once beautiful curls were shorn to almost nothing, and if she hadn't known him, she would have thought he was most certainly this Lorenzo character she had assigned him. Now, since returning to the castle, she had them hidden away. Jon paced in front of them, trying to understand the information he had been given as well. Eternally suffering Jon, Sansa commended his ability to try and think about situations before he took action. Sansa hovered close to Margaery, unsure of what to do, whilst Brienne appeared as if she still couldn't believe what she was seeing. To the Gods- Old and New, Sansa could barely believe it herself, fixated on Margaery's recounting of the events leading up to their escape. Her heart ached to see Margaery clinging to Loras like a lifeline, and he returned her grip, his gaze hollow and forlorn to the wall across from them.

"Please, my good Lord and my kind Lady" Margaery pleaded, sounding more broke than Sansa ever heard her sound, "Loras may have nothing to his name, but please, he can fight. Send him to the Wall to vow himself to the Night's Watch, but I beg of you to keep our house under your protection. I can even pledge House Tyrell to House Stark in Lady Olenna's stead. You shall have Highgarden's powers pledged to you, you will never have to worry about feeding your men during the harsh winters. Protection is all I ask."

"Please," Jon said, he halted, taking in a deep breath. A polite smile gracing his lips as his dark eyes sparkled, "Many men may call me King in the North, but I am no king. I'm not the one to make these decisions."

Sansa felt her heart shatter into tiny, piercing shards of broken glass watching Margaery's face visibly drop and her complexion pale, her eyes swooping betweem the two with immense horror in her gaze. She knew her eyes seemed just as frightened once Margaery's gaze locked with her own bewildered stare.

"This," Jon interrupted their thoughts, the corner of his mouth twitching with his hidden grin, "is a decision best left to my sister."

"Jon-" Sansa started to protest, immediately gazing at him, "excuse me?"

"Come now," Jon said merrily with a laugh, "you think I'm going to make the most important decision of your life for you? I leave big decisions to you, Lady Sansa."

Sansa stared at him, her mouth silently working itself as she turned his words over in her mind. She looked at him as if he were going mad.

"But you're-"

"Ah," Jon interrupted again, his grin widening, "only the menfolk around here say that, Sansa. Don't listen to them, dear sister. This is your decision to make, Queen of the North."

"We accept your terms, Lady Tyrell," Sansa answered swiftly, much to her brother's amusement, pausing to consider, "only, do not fret over sending good Ser Loras to the Wall. He shall stay here and serve as my escort, along with Brienne of Tarth. After his recovery and he is deemed to be in good health by a maester, of course."

For the first time, Loras looked alive again, his fornlorn eyes slashing through Sansa's soul. She held his gaze evenly, a silent understanding passing between them.

"Thank you," he rasped in sincerity, having not spoke a word until then, "I shall do my best to serve you, my Lady."

"As for her Grace," Sansa addressed, gazing down at Margaery, "give us time to correspond the details with Lady Olenna before declaring House Tyrell under our sanctum and holding the official pledges to House Stark. We will need to keep you hidden until then, but am I bold to assume you won't mind the rest that comes with it?"

"Not at all," Margaery returned softly, her eyes settling into a calm gaze upon Sansa. "Please, just Lady Margaery now, if you will."

"Of course," Sansa breathed, "good Brienne and I shall escort you to your quarters, if it pleases you to depart from Ser Loras, Jon shall escort him to his quarters as well."

Margaery and Loras shared a glance, nodding to one another hesitantly. She stood, taking her brother's face into her hands, placing two delicate kisses to each of his cheeks affectionately. He hugged her tightly after, his shoulders trembling slightly, unsteady hands gripping the back of her clothing and balling the fabric underneath his fingers. Margaery made a hushing sound, cheek pressed firmly against Loras' head as she whispered to him so low, one might believe she hadn't spoke at all except for the gentle parting of her lips. Loras sounded as if he kept repeating a muffled apology into her shirt, tears wracking his body.

Sansa turned away, and she noticed her companions had as well, she felt truly horrible. Like she was intruding on something that should be kept private. Only, she longed to comfort Margaery when she heard light sniffles from the other woman. Instead, she gripped her furs harshly, keeping still in her place. She gazed on miserably at the wall.

 

"Lady Sansa," Margaery had her head peering into the room from behind the door separating their chambers. "If I may-"

"Please, just Sansa, your Grace."

"Well," Margaery quipped back, a small grin on her face, beginning to sound like her usual self. "Only if you call me Margaery. Or at the very least, Lady Margaery. A girl likes to feel special, after all."

"Of course," Sansa noted, a grin on her own face. "What does the Lady need help with?"

"O-oh," Margaery faltered, and... was that a blush Sansa saw on her cheeks? "It's just, I haven't the faintest clue on how to use these blasted Northern contraptions."

Sansa's grin widened, she stood, making her way to the door.

"Mayhaps," Sansa told her mischievously, "I could help you with those blasted Northern contraptions."

"Please, I would be eternally grateful."

Once Sansa had reach the door, she nearly just as well fainted. Margaery had wrapped herself up in nothing but a long fur, freshly clean skin peeking out from under it. She reverted her gaze to the chamber floor, heat creeping up her neck. Hesitation clear as day written across her face.

"No need to be posh," Margaery chided teasingly, "we're all ladies here, sweet girl."

They both paused, whilst Margaery looked surprised she had said that, Sansa's face turned the colour of her hair almost. Warmth flooded her at the pet name. Although, no longer a girl, Sansa still felt like one in Margaery's presence. Her cunning, bold, collected nature always had made Sansa feel that way. But the fact she had also gone out of her way to be less cunning and more kind, it had made Sansa feel special. Truly.

"Well-" Margaery cut into the thick cloud of shyness, "that, right there, is my arch nemesis."

Sansa's gaze curiously trailed down Margaery's arm, sweeping across the room to behold what she was rueing. A small, wooden contraption sat by the fire, although, not entirely set about how it should have been. Sansa released a laugh, making her way across the room, she set the strange, box-like piece of wood correctly. Then, placed her foot down upon it. Taking a step down, it blew a strong gust of air from it. The fire crackled happily for a moment, dying back down. Sansa continued her step for a few seconds, the contraption groaning and shuddering under her boot, until the fire had roared back to life in a giddy blaze. Margaery gasped.

"How," she demanded, approaching with a furrowed brow. "I tried for what seemed like hours to make it work."

"A mystical power the Starks have possessed since coming after the First Men and the Children of the Forest." Sansa explained, eyes twinkling mischievously. "It's something we pass down our line."

Margaery pouted prettily, her gaze drawing Sansa in. Sansa observed Margaery closely, a warmth unlike the one radiating from the fire began to fill her chest, yet she holds herself put. Margaery's stepped closer now, her hand on Sansa's arm lightly. An inviting touch, Sansa thinks. She wants to- _what does she want to do?_ Sansa's gaze flickered from Margaery momentarily, inhaling slowly. No, she mustn't take advantage of Margaery in her position... lest she be any better than Ramsay if she did.

"This has certainly been enjoyable," Sansa remarked, a hand barely grazing Margaery's. "But I'm afraid I must bid you farewell and a good night."

With that, Sansa nods to Margaery, making her way back toward her chambers for the night, an evening full of fitful slumber ahead of her.

**Author's Note:**

> A fix it of sorts for the massive fuck up of a grand final. Definitely an au, sprinkled with canon elements from here on out.


End file.
